


Siren

by AraSigyrn



Category: Pirates of the Carribean
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they start the search, Elizabeth learns a little more of the world, the sea and Davy Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren

Will goes out to bunk with the men that night. Truthfully, Elizabeth expected it but that doesn't make it easier to bear. He's changed so much even since their disasterous wedding day. Somewhere along the line from Port Royal and a cursed ship, her simple, honest blacksmith has become a fierce and dauntless pirate. She wants to blame Jack but that wouldn't be fair or right.

Will's a pirate.

Not because of her, or Jack or even his long-lost father. Will just _is_. She's grown used to being able to control it, to chase the pirate back into the shadows and keep her gentleman by her side. There's a tiny part of her that wonders if she killed Jack because this time, she really did think he'd steal Will away?

She's lost in the misery of her thoughts and doesn't hear the soft conversation in the 'other room' stop. Barbossa sways past her, boots clomping across the wooden boards and she watches him go out from under the roof, the moonlight silvering his feathered hat, as he picks his way past dozing pirates to talk to Will. She can see Gibbs - always the last to sleep - sit up and put a casual hand on the nearest oar. She leans forward and just catches Will's slight headshake. Gibbs sighs but lifts his hand away and settles himself into the space between two benches.

There's something wrong with that. Jethro Gibbs, sailor, pirate and Sage of the seven seas; following Will's orders. Following them immediately and faithfully despite the fact that he was manning men'o'war since before Will was born. And yet, the two men have fallen into company as if they spent years rather than days together at sea and Will, battered but proud, looks every inch the pirate chief. Her stomach twists and she turns her face away only to find herself staring straight into the eyes of Tia Dalama. The witchwoman has a half-crazed smile on her face that makes Elizabeth's hand grope for her sword-hilt.

"You'll not be needing no sword here, girl." Tia's smile spreads a little wider. "You be safe here 'til the morning come. And we be needing to talk about your sweetheart."

"Will? What's wrong with Will?" Elizabeth snaps defensively.

"Your boy got a great Destiny ahead o' him." Tia starts to snuff candles as she moves around the room. The darkness comes creeping out from behind the jars and Tia's voice is loud in the almost-silence of the jungle. "You know it. But you don' want to."

Something in Elizabeth's face betrays her and she sees yellowed teeth gleam before the candle by the door. How the other woman can see a damn thing in this gloom amazes her but it is undeniably her hand on the thin salt-stiff fabric of her shirt, just above the heart. Elizabeth sucks in an indignant breath, her chest filling; only to loose it in a startled gasp as the tough skin on the palm of Tia's hand catches on the sensitive tip.

"You be t'inking dat the sea be callin' and you be gonna lose him." Tia whispers against her ear, breath rich with spices and secrets. "Truth is, 'e's not yours to lose no more." Her free hand, fingertips still hot from the wick, slips the worn leather belt free of the buckle. "'im gonna go faaar."

Elizabeth tries to muster the breath for a suitably crushing reply, but every breath she takes in lifts her breast into the cup of Tia's hand and every breath she lets out those hot fingertips trail a little lower towards the rough cloth of the cabin-boy's pants. She's never been so aware of her ...her lower extremities before. She can feel the cloth rub against her skin, feel her legs on display for all to see and feel the stares of men and women...-and her sword clatters to the ground, making her jump and Tia's fingers plunge past the waistband.

She gasps as clever fingers curl in the wiry hair, teasing and tantalizing and her legs fall open as she tilts like a ship at the mercy of a storm, shoulders slamming into the wooden wall with a force that will probably leave bruises. But Tia's there and her eyes are like dark blood, glossy and inhuman in the dim moonlight and she's leaning in and Elizabeth can taste salt as her mouth is filled with a moving, tasting, wicked tongue.

She can't breathe - this is worse than a corset and so much better all at once. She spreads her legs, letting the dark storm of a woman set lightning flashing behind her eyes as fingers push into slickness and twist and cradle her as she sobs into the warm set mouth and her muscles threaten to shake her bones apart. Tia pushes her legs wider, wider until Elizabeth is open and wet and _needing_ and blunt nails scrape lightly against the soft inner tissues and she's crying out and Tia swallows the sound and pushes her higher and higher until she can't breathe; can't go higher, only fall into the eye of the storm.

She wakes to feel Tia's fingers, still slick with from her own wetness, brushing away the tears. "Don' cry for 'im. Let 'im go. Let the sea have 'im."

And she can't find the words to deny that wine-rich voice. So Elizabeth Swann leans into her new lover's strong arms and cries for the men she's lost.


End file.
